


Learning to Love Your Super Powers

by vylit



Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-17
Updated: 2004-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vylit/pseuds/vylit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Super powers suck, except when they don't.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning to Love Your Super Powers

I. Flying Rodent Man, Arachnid Boy, and the Mighty Spaz 

Sitting in his barn loft with a plate of cookies and a mountain of comics, Clark shook his head at the orange and green spandex suited hero and turned the page. He'd made a pact with himself, and he was going to see it through. He wasn't going to move from this spot until he had answers. No more brooding. No more sitting in dark and freaking his mother out. He was going to leave here smiling, or he wasn't leaving at all. 

This was proactive. Not all that stupid when looked at from the right perspective. Really, there had to be some kind of advance warning system, some way to figure out what kind of surprise his body would come up with next. It wasn't like he was asking for a timeline, just a general "hey, I might be the next body part that betrays you, so keep an eye on me" would be nice. The people where he'd come from had to have some hint of what their next ability would be or when it was going to decide to show up, but since there weren't any of them around to ask, comics seemed like the best option. The characters in comic books had to discover their powers sometime, and while they were just fictional characters, it might give him an idea of what to look for or how to handle them. It wasn't like there were any other models to go by. 

Of course, the problem there was that all of the people in comics were superheroes, super villains, or victims. None of them were teenagers who suffered from a severe lack of cool and anxiety over the chance of levitating in class. 

He was _never_ going to make it through high school like this. 

Unfortunately, Buzzard Man's inability to grow hair on the top of his head didn't really apply to Clark, and while Spark's powers left Clark sympathetic - it would really suck to have lightning shoot out your eyes every time you looked at your girlfriend - it wasn't particularly helpful. With his first option failing horribly - though, the issue where Flying Rodent Man and Arachnid Boy battled The Prankster was really cool - there seemed to be no option left but to examine the problem himself. 

Stripping down to nothing but his underwear, Clark looked at himself for a long time, searching for differences, hints. Starting on his fingers, he worked his way over his skin. His body seemed normal, but if his life was going to be like a never-ending episode of the X-Files, he didn't think wanting a clue of what was in store for him was too much to ask. His body could be just waiting to get him into another embarrassing situation before it decided to sprout wings or pop out a tail. God, if you have any love for aliens at all, please not a tail, Clark thought, taking off his boxers and craning his head around to look for any telltale bumps or signs of growth. 

An hour of searching later, Clark had discovered a mole on the back of his knee that he'd never noticed before, spent a heart-stopping five minutes paranoid that Lex - or, oh god - Lana would visit him and catch him with his pants down in the very literal sense, and he'd confirmed his body's inability to think of either one of them seeing him naked without growing embarrassingly hard. It wasn't enough to be an alien with a crush on an untouchable girl; he had to be a gay alien completely infatuated with his best friend as well. 

On the positive side, Clark hadn't found one hint of future trouble after all his looking, poking, and a little bit of prodding. He looked normal enough. Yeah, he was a little big, a little developed for a freshman, but nothing that screamed out alien or freak. Part of that could just be because he didn't know his real birthday like other kids did. He could be sixteen or seventeen. It's not like he knew how his... how the people where he came from aged. He could even be Lex's _age_. And with only a few slightly overdeveloped muscles to set him visibly apart from the average teenager, it was possible his body had settled down, that he was as strange as he was going to get. And, as cool as the x-ray vision was, and it really, really was, it wasn't helping him blend in. He didn't need another ability to control or to set him apart from everyone else. 

Not to say that his abilities were completely without advantages. Clark felt his face break into a smile remembering legs, arms, _breasts_ , and wet skin everywhere. It wasn't like he'd meant to look into the girls' locker room, and god, Pete would die to be able -- 

"Clark, dinner's ready!" 

Guilt made his face uncomfortably hot and itchy. "OK. Be right down." Clark ducked his head and scrambled to put on his clothes, thankful that his mom was big on the idea of privacy and rarely walked up the stairs into his loft. 

Dressed and feeling more relaxed, Clark adjusted himself through his jeans and started walking back to the house. Sure, he was strong, fast, and there was the x-ray vision thing and the occasional floating moment, but that might be the last of it. All he had to do was adjust to those, and then it was Goodbye, Clark the Mighty Spaz and Hello, Clark the Absolutely Normal (if Bisexual) Teenager. 

II. So Much for Peaceful, Utopian Alien Races or Meet Clark, the Alien's Answer to the Blowtorch 

Abilities or Alien Things I Definitely Don't Want  
Horns  
A tail  
Spikes  
Tentacles  
The ability to project anything out of nose or butt  
Anything that includes molting or fat sucking  
Turning people to ash 

Crumpling up the paper, Clark stuffed it into the couch cushions and plopped down. He hadn't even expected something like this. Sure, he'd been worried about physical stuff, but he hadn't really thought that he'd get anything dangerous. Strength and speed were benign, useful, and not necessarily a weapon. But shooting fire out of your eyes didn't have many practical, day-to-day uses unless he came from a race of welders. 

He couldn't get teleportation or the ability turn back time - now that would be helpful. No, he had to get fire-shooting eyes every time he thought about sex, and it had to kick in during a _heat wave_. Not during the winter when everyone was bundled under layers and even Lana looked kind of silly in snow boots and puffy winter coats. Nope, it had to happen when she was wearing those little t-shirts with the clinging fabric that stuck to her slick skin and kept her touching, kept her running her hands across her neck and chest. And if that wasn't bad enough, there was Lex. Lex with his smirking, and his sex hips, and that low, intimate way of talking, like Clark and him were the only ones around, like Lex knew every single thought Clark had ever had about him, and he'd seen into Clark's bedroom, knew it was his name that Clark gasped out right before he came. 

Feeling his eyes start to burn, Clark pressed his eyelids shut. Think of something else. Anything else. 

Lana making Whitney that video. Lana talking about Whitney all the time. Lex running past him to see if Miss Atkins - no, _Mrs. Luthor_ \- was OK. Lex looking at Clark like he meant something and then going off and _marrying_ someone else. Asking Clark to be his best man as if they'd never stood too close to each other, as if Clark was just a _friend_. Telling Clark about how much in love he was with someone he'd just met when Clark had been waiting for Lex to take things past the innuendo and pool cue stroking for _months_. But oh no, Miss Atkins walked in and made some dumb comment about saving him, and suddenly Clark's just the best man, just The Friend. 

Clark realized that the hot prick in the back of his eyes had receded at the same time he noticed the couch splintering under his fingertips. Tired and angry, he walked down to the bottom of the stairs and sat down. How was he supposed to go to school? How was he supposed to function with this? He'd nearly turned the Talon into Smallville's largest bonfire, and there was no telling what could happen while he was at school. 

Things couldn't possibly get worse than this. 

III. Superhearing is Overrated and Temporary Deafness Should Be His Next Power 

It seemed like it would be such a cool ability to have, but oh no, it really, really wasn't. 

So far, he'd learned of two affairs, the truly horrible quality of Smallville's choir, and his teachers' tendency to gossip about just how much they hated their classes and disliked their students, not mean or cruel but weary and bitter, like the sting of tired worker bees. 

He'd also had the misfortune of walking by the Catholic church on Sunday and heard sixty-year-old Mrs. Wilkerson confessing. He hadn't wanted or needed to know that she knitted on porch every afternoon just so she could "appreciate" the high school boys walking by, and he'd spent the next twenty minutes remembering the iced lemonades she brought out to him when he'd fixed her fence last summer, and how she'd let him know where she kept the hose in case he got too hot. 

Still, it was waking up in the middle of the night to the sounds of his parents having sex that sent him over the edge. It wasn't just the sex, but the words coming out his mother's mouth. At least his dad was quiet - well, quiet other than the grunting and occasional "Martha" - and Clark preferred that to the soft whimpers and his _mother's_ voice rising with "faster," "harder," and "god, Jonathan." His ability to ever achieve another erection wasn't in the least bit assured after the two-hour marathon sex, but Clark had stayed in bed with his pillow over his head and his hands over his ears until he couldn't take it anymore. 

The more anxious he became, the sharper his hearing, taunting him with a second or two of silence before booming back, and not even his parent's strict school night curfew could keep him in the house. Running so fast he felt as though he were flying, Clark didn't stop until he saw Lex's house looming in front of him, cold and silent, as withdrawn as Lex had been lately. And if it had been a few months ago, Clark would have walked in, asked Lex if he wanted to shoot some pool and brushed off Lex's inquiries about his appearance at this time of night, but it wasn't then, and Clark felt like he was frozen by Lex's distance. Colder than the arctic and so different from Lex before the hospital, the open grounds were infinitely more welcoming. So Clark sat down and stared up into the window, hoping Lex would look out and see him, invite him in and be _his_ Lex again, his Lex who listened and cared and always wanted him around. 

Two hours later, the sky turned gaudy, dressed in blue and orange light, and Clark watched Lex walk to the window and pull the curtains shut. A moment later, the room went black, and Clark took that as a sign to dust himself off and head home. 

Lex hadn't seen him. 

IV. What Happens When You're Sucked into the Sequel to Powder 

"Clark." Chloe's hand waved in front of his face. "Earth to Clark. Come on, I need to have that article in twenty minutes or I won't make it to press on time. It's on the morale of the football team, not an interview with the mayor. You should be able to write this in your sleep." 

Clark nodded at her and shook his head in an attempt to ignore the buzzing in his chest. "Yeah, I'll - I'm almost..." Swallowing, Clark did his best to focus on the article in front of him and ignore the flash of irritation that attempted to suck him in. 

"God, Clark, what is that?" Chloe asked, pointing to the last sentence that Clark typed out. He knew what he'd intended to put down, and *:ike any other sport*, _footbacll takes decdication_ wasn't it. "Spell check is your friend." Chloe leaned over him and pressed the backspace key, bracing herself on his bare arm. 

"You know, if you're going to write the article anyway, I might as well not be here. It's not like I don't have other things I could be doing." 

Backing up, Chloe face lost its focus before settling into hard lines, sharp and fragile like glass. "Fine, Clark, leave and I'll finish it." 

Picking up his backpack, Clark brushed by Chloe. Hurt like a physical hit in the gut washed over him. Clark paused at the door. "I'm sorry, Chloe. I'm just a little distracted. I'll finish it. Besides, I have the inside scoop, right?" It was hard to grin at her with hurt and worry sitting themselves in his stomach, but he made an attempt. 

"No, I'm sorry for the whole," Chloe mimed leaning over his shoulder, "I've just been kind of... I'll go grab us two coffees, and when I come back I'll be amazed by the depth and candor of our concussion-addled football team." 

As soon as Chloe left, Clark felt the undercurrent of worry, hurt, and irritation leave. Not slowly, but one moment it was there, and the next it wasn't. Please don't let it be some kind of weird alien hormones, Clark thought, giving a quick glance at the door before using his super speed to type the article. 

* * *

God, he wished it were hormones. He thought so at first, but when his history teacher put in the movie _Glory_ , and it'd upset him so much he'd spent twenty minutes with his head down so the rest of the class wouldn't see him crying, he was sure the emotions weren't coming from him. Sarah Trzaska had always been emotional, and she had to be the one sitting right next to him. At least he hadn't started sobbing like she had. The sniffling had been bad enough 

One long walk home - he didn't feel like using his traitor body's abilities today - and he was once again in the barn. His dad's advice was the same as always - avoid people until you learn how to control it. Which was good advice, but how do you block out someone's feelings? It wasn't a voice; it wasn't like he could close his eyes and just shut it off. 

Damn alien body. Damn abilities. Damn Sarah Trzaska. This day couldn't possibly get worse. 

"Clark." 

Scratch that. 

"Lex," Clark said, closing his eyes. One of these days he was going to learn. "Hey." Normal. Just act normal. "What are doing here?" 

"I stopped by the Talon for a cup of coffee and your mom said you were sick. Thought I'd stop by to see how you were." One long look, and Clark was hit with lust and underlying disbelief. "You look fine." 

The words jumbled in Clark's head for a moment, making him feel fifteen again. Far out of his depth, he felt overwhelmed and uncomfortable, his long arms wanting to touch Lex's skin. Only this time he knew, knew for a fact that Lex wasn't only concerned with keeping their friendship, and the certainty disarmed him. He faked a quick cough and shifted on his feet, trying to maneuver his face into something resembling a sick look. He suspected he was hitting closer to constipated. "I wasn't feeling that well earlier, but I'm doing better now." 

"Good to hear. What would Smallville do without its savior?" Very little change in expression outside of the self-mocking smile, but Clark was getting hit with so many flickers of emotion he started to feel sick to his stomach. 

"I, uh," he started, but the more he spoke the quicker it got, emotions tumbling over him like liquid Kryptonite, and he doubled over. 

"Clark!" Lex's hand on his shoulder - concern, love, suspicion, curiosity, and worry tangled together and so unfiltered Clark didn't know how Lex could possibly handle them all or show so little of it. Nothing cold or distant, not filtered or softened, pure fiery emotion and if Clark had thought that Lex didn't care, didn't feel things, he knew now that he'd been wrong. 

"I'm fine, Lex. I just - I just need to sit down." 

Brief feeling of vertigo as Lex wrapped his arms around Clark's waist and dragged him to the couch with Clark unable to give much help. It was either keep down his food or walk, and he thought Lex would be thankful for the protection of his designer shoes. 

"I can't believe you haven't been to see a doctor." Lex flipped open his phone and started dialing. 

"No, I'll be fine, Lex. I just need to sit down for a bit." 

Staring at Clark in that too intense way of his, Lex looked like he was trying to excavate the truth from Clark's expression. "Alright, Clark." He closed the phone and sat down at the edge of couch, looking away. 

And that part of Clark, the suspicious part of him, the one that saw the room with his life picked apart and made into surgical sections, reminded him that Lex could have wanted to bring in a doctor for a different reason. Lex's concern was something Clark had taken for granted before, but he couldn't afford to do it now. Reaching out, Clark laid his hand on Lex's arm and focused. Hot and searing, it was so strong Clark had to wrap his other arm around himself. The concern was still there, more than a little frustration, and yes, yes there was curiosity as well, but it was buried, the least strong emotion out of three. 

Lex knew Clark was hiding something from him, and he wanted to help, but he wasn't going to push. 

"Thanks for coming over, Lex." Clark pulled his arm away before digging any deeper. Lex cared about him, and with as many secrets as he kept from Lex, Clark was willing to let Lex keep a few of his own. "It means a lot." 


End file.
